The Hero He Was Meant To Be
by Thomson
Summary: *Deathly Hallows Spoilers*  Neville wages his own war with himself after the death of his hero.  But he won't give up just yet- he wasn't sorted into Gryffindor for nothing.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Now if I could use the imperius curse, that's another kettle of fish…

A/N: I am watching the "Chamber of Secrets" right now and for some reason felt incredibly compelled to write about Neville for some reason. I hope you enjoy; please read and review.

I knew something was off. I knew it the moment I saw Harry alone, approaching me on the grounds after the Death Eater's retreat. I asked him what he was doing, if he was planning to turn himself in- of course he said no. What could I have expected him to say? Of course he wouldn't tell me he was going to do the unthinkable, for the sake of protecting us all. Of course he would do the right thing. Of course he would play the hero, the martyr, still thinking that after everything else he was alone and somehow it was all up to him. I am such a fool. I should have stopped him then, held him back and kept him from leaving under the shield of his cloak. But I couldn't surrender to the truth. I didn't want to believe he would do it- I couldn't believe he would leave us! So I let him go. But not before he gave me his last request, the last words I would ever hear from him. Kill the snake. That was my task. At the moment I couldn't get over the dull pang in my stomach that something was very wrong with his request. Why was he asking me to do it? What did he mean 'just in case'? I could do nothing more than repeat it back to him, nod dumbly and stay mute, not to let my misgivings show through. I wouldn't show Harry any weakness. Not when he showed only strength. I finally found my voice and told him: "We're all going to keep fighting," and I saw the look of pain cross his face. He seemed to choke back emotion. Without even thinking, I reached out and patted his shoulder. I wouldn't make it any harder on him, not if I could help it. He didn't need to explain.

Now I feel nothing. There is pain, there is anger, shame, guilt- but I've set it aside. Shock has taken hold of me. Harry lies there, dead at Voldemort's feet. It's over. That single thought takes hold of me and roots me to the spot. I can't scream the name of our savior. I can't look away. Voldemort's harsh words ring in my ears, as he says coldly and cruelly "He was killed trying to sneak out of the castle grounds,". Liar. Murderer. He will pay for what he has done. Righteous anger fills me, clouding my eyes with hatred and eliminating all cohesive thought from my mind. Revenge is my drive. As he says "killed while trying to save himself-" my temper breaks. Not Harry. Liar. Murderer. Slanderer. Harry was my friend and my hero, and this will not stand. Not so long as there is a breath left in my body. I rush at him. Not a thread of me is afraid. But in a moment everything comes to a sudden halt. I feel the impact of the blow and cry out, falling to the ground. Now it is truly over. I hear Bellatrix, that terrible woman, telling the Dark Lord who I am. If I could only take her down with me…He addresses me. I know I should be afraid, but I'm not I struggling against his control to stand up. I silently make my peace with the world. There is a sudden clarity. I know what's coming. I have minutes left. With my last ounce of courage I grit my teeth and announce in a loud and clear voice "I'll join you when hell freezes over! Dumbledore's Army!" I catch the deadly flicker in Voldemort's eyes. This is it. I pull my eyes away to take a last look at the crowd; all those people-friends, classmates, professors- I remind myself that these people are the ones I am fighting for. Dying for. I look at Harry limp figure and think for a moment I see his lip twitch. I know I imagine it. But it gives me a strange feeling, like he approves; somehow, it's as much in his honor as it is service to the cause. Another blow against Voldemort.

The flash of green does not come. The blow doesn't come. Voldemort seems to have another idea. He calls forth the Sorting Hat. Even as it is draped on my head, I have no knowledge of what will happen. A feeling of dread crawls back into me, a chill running up my spine. I can not move. Suddenly, flames are brought to life on top of my head. Panic surges in me. It can't end like this! I fight harder than I could ever have imagined possible against the curse that binds me. I can't die yet. I have a job to do. I have to kill the snake. For Harry, for Dumbledore, for everyone this godforsaken war has taken- I will see this through to the end. Be it to my end. I feel the spell shatter and in one motion I reach into the fallen hat and take hold of the handle of the sword. As I bring down the blade toward the serpent, the strangest thought occurs to me: I was meant to be a Gryffindor.


End file.
